And I fear you'll listen to tales, be jealous and hard
and unkind.'
But he turn'd and claspt me in his arms, and answer'd,
`No, love, no;'
Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy years
ago.

XV.
So Willy and I were wedded: I wore a lilac
gown;
And the ringers rang with a will, and he gave the
ringers a crown.
But the first that ever I bare was dead before he was
born,
Shadow and shine is life, little Annie, flower and
thorn.

XVI.
That was the first time, too, that ever I thought of
death.
There lay the sweet little body that never had drawn
a breath.
I had not wept, little Anne, not since I had been a
wife;
But I wept like a child that day, for the babe had
fought for his life.

XVII.
His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger or
pain: